CHAPTER 6

Zethus' Point of View

"Zoelle," I called out, my voice echoing down the hallway like a hesitant whisper. She turned, surprise lighting her features. It was as if my voice had pulled her from another world, one she was struggling to navigate with the stack of books threatening to topple from her arms.

Without a second thought, I stepped forward and relieved her of the burden, cradling the heavy volumes in my hands.

"Brother Zethus, why?" she asked, her curiosity genuine, her eyes searching mine.

"Are you heading home?" I asked, a casual question masking the unease gnawing at me. She nodded, and I gestured for us to walk together. The school hallways blurred into the background as we made our way toward the parking lot.

"Where's Chrisnah?" I asked, feigning nonchalance, though the absence of her usual companion was impossible to ignore.

"Oh, she's with Michael," Zoelle answered lightly, but the name struck a discordant note in my mind. "They said they were going somewhere together."

Together? Again?

I froze mid-step, the books in my hands feeling suddenly heavier. My heart lurched uncomfortably, a foreign sensation, one that had become more frequent lately. It was strange, this feeling that clawed at me whenever I thought about Chrisnah and Michael together.

Chrisnah had always been a constant in my life, unwavering and dependable. Yet, here she was, drifting into someone else's orbit, someone as flamboyant and… different as Michael.

I couldn't deny that the sight of them together unsettled me. Michael wasn't like anyone else in our tight-knit circle. He was loud, vibrant, and unapologetically himself—a stark contrast to the reserved, almost distant demeanor that Chrisnah usually kept with others. It wasn't that I had anything against him or his flamboyance, but there was something about their growing closeness that made my skin prickle.

I've always been the one Chrisnah turned to, the one who could coax a smile from her even on her darkest days. But now, here was Michael, making her laugh effortlessly, making her happy in a way that both bewildered and angered me. He was encroaching on a space that had always been mine.

And what frustrated me even more was how naturally he seemed to fit into that space, how easily he brought down Chrisnah's walls.

"Brother?" Zoelle's voice shattered my thoughts. I blinked, finding her staring at me with concern etched on her face. I shook my head and started walking again, trying to shake off the gnawing jealousy that was beginning to fester within me.

We reached the parking lot, and the drive home passed in a blur. Zoelle chatted away beside me, but I was too lost in my thoughts to really listen. The image of Chrisnah with Michael lingered in my mind, an unwelcome shadow.

When we arrived home, I went through the motions—greeting Mom with a kiss, trudging up to my room, discarding my uniform—but my mind was elsewhere. I found myself standing by my bedside table, my eyes drawn to a picture frame that had stood there for as long as I could remember.

I picked it up, my heart twisting at the sight of Chrisnah's sweet smile frozen in time. She was holding a single flower, her expression one of pure, unfiltered joy. I had taken this picture last summer at our rest house, during a moment that was simple yet perfect.

But now… that smile didn't feel like it belonged to me anymore.

"Your smile doesn't only belong to me now. It belongs to someone else," I muttered bitterly, the weight of my own words crushing down on me.

I had always known that my feelings for Chrisnah ran deeper than simple friendship. She was my sister's best friend, my own best friend, the one person who had always made me feel understood. But now, everything was shifting, and I felt powerless to stop it.

Michael's presence had introduced a new dynamic, one that I wasn't prepared for. I hated how much it affected me, how much it made me question everything.

I placed the picture frame back on the table, my chest tightening with a mixture of longing and frustration.

What I was about to wish for was wrong, selfish even, but I couldn't help it.

"Don't fall for him, please."

Chrisnah's Point of View

"Where exactly are we going?!" I demanded, my patience fraying as Michael led me out of the school grounds. He had insisted I come with him, but his refusal to tell me where we were headed only added to my irritation.

"Just come along, girl! It'll be fine!" he said, his voice light and teasing as he swayed down the sidewalk with his usual flair.

"I'm not taking another step until you tell me where we're going!" I declared, planting my feet firmly on the ground.

Michael stopped, turning to face me with an exasperated sigh. "Why are you being so dramatic, tomboy?!"

I crossed my arms, narrowing my eyes at him. "Because I have no idea what you’re planning! For all I know, you might be plotting something."

He rolled his eyes so dramatically I thought they might stay that way. "Please, girl! I'm not that kind of pervert," he shot back, his tone a mix of sarcasm and mock offense. Then he gave me a look-over, from head to toe, with a scrutinizing expression that made me self-conscious.

"And?" I prompted, raising an eyebrow.

"And..." he paused, grimacing as if he'd just tasted something sour. "I wouldn't be interested in your body, girl; I'm sexier than you," he declared, his voice dripping with theatrical disdain.

My cheeks flushed a deep crimson. Was he really sizing me up just now?! "P-pervert!" I stammered, hugging myself defensively.

Michael scoffed, waving off my accusation. "Your mind is just too dirty! Now, come on!" He turned and continued walking, leaving me fuming in his wake.

I glared at his retreating figure, the frustration bubbling up inside me. He was infuriating! And yet, there was something about him that I couldn't ignore, something that made my heart race in a way I didn't want to acknowledge.

"Flamboyant jerk," I muttered under my breath as I begrudgingly followed him.

...

"Just drop us off at the corner, sir," Michael said, handing the tricycle driver a crumpled bill. I frowned as I took in our surroundings, my curiosity piqued.

The neighborhood we had entered was a stark contrast to the clean, orderly streets I was used to. Here, the houses were cramped together, makeshift structures cobbled together with wood and tin. The air was thick with the sounds of people living their lives—children playing, men talking loudly over card games, and the occasional bark of a stray dog.

"What are we doing here?" I asked, my voice low as I took in the unfamiliar surroundings.

"This is where we live," Michael replied, his tone casual, as if this revelation was no big deal. But to me, it was a surprise.

I had never imagined Michael coming from a place like this. He always carried himself with such confidence, such flair, that I had assumed he came from a more privileged background. But here we were, standing in the middle of a slum.

"Come on," he said, taking my hand in his. The gesture caught me off guard, but I didn't pull away. His hand was unexpectedly soft, a gentle contrast to his flamboyant exterior.

As we walked through the narrow alleyways, I couldn't shake the feeling that something significant was happening, something I couldn't quite put into words. The neighborhood buzzed with life, a stark difference from the quiet, pristine world I knew. Despite the chaos, there was a sense of community here that I found oddly comforting.

"Be careful, girl. There are a lot of pickpockets around," Michael warned, squeezing my hand slightly. I tightened my grip on his hand, feeling a strange mix of apprehension and safety.

“Hey Michael! Who’s that with you?! Is she your girlfriend? Oh, look at you, you’re so gay! You didn’t tell me you’re actually straight!” An older man called out with a booming voice as we strolled down the street.

Michael halted abruptly, and I followed suit, my curiosity piqued.

"Huh? This lesbian here isn’t my girlfriend, Mang Tasyo! I’m actually prettier than her!" Michael retorted with a dramatic flair, causing Mang Tasyo to burst into hearty laughter.

My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Did he really have to announce that I’m a lesbian? And, to be honest, I’m not even pretty—I’m just handsome.

Right, readers? Nod along or face my wrath.

“Is that so?! What a pity! You two would actually make a good-looking pair!” Mang Tasyo chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Michael and I exchanged a look of mutual disdain, our expressions mirroring each other’s frustration.

“Disgusting, Manong.” We said in unison, making Mang Tasyo blink in surprise before breaking into another round of laughter.

“These kids are too obvious. Alright, go on now; I need to feed my fighting cocks,” he said, waving us off with a grin.

“Alright, Mang Tasyo. I’ll send Xylene over to be your bait later,” Michael replied, his playful tone matching Mang Tasyo’s mirth. Mang Tasyo laughed heartily and shook his head, clearly amused.

As Michael and I continued our walk, I turned to him. “Who was that?”

“Oh, that’s Mang Tasyo. He’s like a second father to Xylene and me here in Manila,” Michael explained casually. I nodded as we approached a modest house with a tiny, rusted gate.

“Don’t let his appearance fool you. Mang Tasyo might seem rough, but he’s harmless. Just very passionate about cockfighting,” Michael assured me as he pushed open the gate.

The neighborhood was lively and friendly, with several neighbors casting curious glances at Michael.

“Come on in,” he said, holding my hand and guiding me through the creaky gate into their home.

“Welcome to our humble abode!” Michael announced with a flourish as we stepped inside.

I looked around, taking in the small, single-story house. It was a far cry from the spacious home I was used to. The layout was simple: a living area in one corner, a kitchen in another, and three doors—presumably to the bedrooms and perhaps a bathroom.

“Sit down, girl. Sorry, our house is so small,” Michael said, gesturing to a worn-out sofa.

I shook my head. “N-no problem. I just wasn’t expecting it,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant. Michael smiled warmly as he poured water into a glass.

“Because your house is big?” he teased, causing me to shake my head vigorously.

“No, it’s just... broken,” I said, chuckling awkwardly.

Michael laughed softly as he handed me the glass. “Just drink up. We don’t have any juice,” he said, his tone light-hearted. I took a generous sip, surprising Michael.

“Are you that thirsty, girl? You didn’t even ask if it was mineral or tap?” he teased.

I frowned, shrugging. “Whether it’s mineral or tap, it’s fine. When you’re thirsty, you drink.”

He grinned. “I should have fetched your water from the canal,” he joked.

I scowled playfully. “Are you out of your mind?” I retorted, and he laughed again, shaking his head as he sat down beside me.

“You’re surprised by our house, huh? It may be small, but we’re happy here,” he said, surveying the room with a proud gaze.

Their home was indeed modest but clean and well-kept. The furniture was neatly arranged, and the place had a welcoming ambiance.

“I actually kind of like it here,” I said, surprising myself. I turned to Michael and smiled. “It’s nice. Even though it’s small, you can see everyone in the family and every corner of the house. I think there’s something special about that.”

Growing up in a mansion, I rarely saw my family outside of meal times and movie nights. This small house, where every member was visible, struck a chord with me.

“We dream of a bigger place,” Michael said, his eyes roaming the room. “Life’s tough for us. We’re not wealthy; we’re here on scholarships. But we have three meals a day, and that’s enough. We’re happy with what we have.”

His cheerful demeanor masked a deeper struggle. I had always seen Michael as the flamboyant, carefree guy. Now, I saw a responsible young man carrying the weight of his family’s dreams.

“Why did you bring me here?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

Michael’s face brightened with a sincere smile. “I want you to meet my father,” he said, his voice soft and full of warmth. I was taken aback. Why would he want me to meet his father?

“Why?” I asked, puzzled.

“Because you’re the very first friend I’ve ever made since the beginning of time. I want to introduce the first friend I’ve ever made to my father,” he explained with a smile.

His eyes shone with genuine happiness. “Hold on, I’ll get Dad. Stay here!” Michael said with a grin before dashing into one of the rooms.

I stood up as Michael emerged, pushing a wheelchair with his father seated in it. The old man looked dazed and distant.

I hadn’t anticipated this glimpse into Michael’s life. He always seemed so vibrant and carefree at school. Was this hidden sorrow behind his cheerful mask?

They stopped in front of me. Michael knelt beside his father and gently stroked his cheek.

“Dad, I’d like you to meet someone special,” Michael said softly.

The father’s vacant eyes shifted towards me. I was at a loss for words, my emotions a tangled mess.

“Dad, this is Chrisnah. Chrisnah, this is my father. Isn’t she beautiful? She’s my very first friend!” Michael said cheerfully, though his father remained unresponsive.

“H-hello. I’m Chrisnah Shelyn Perez,” I introduced myself, bowing slightly.

Michael stood and patted his father’s head gently before taking a seat next to me.

“What happened to your father?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“My father suffers from emotional blunting. It’s a severe form of emotional detachment where a person becomes numb and muted,” he explained, his gaze lingering sadly on his father’s room.

“What caused this?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. Michael’s face shifted from calm to a storm of anger.

“My mother,” he said tersely. My heart sank.

“She left us when Xylene and I were still young. We were just five when she abandoned us for another man,” he said, his fists clenching tightly.

The gravity of his words struck me. A mother abandoning her children for another man seemed like something out of a tragedy.

“She left because my father was a mere strawberry farmer, while her new love was a wealthy magnate. The betrayal was too much,” he said, his voice laced with bitterness.

“Is that why you became gay?” I asked cautiously. Michael’s eyes widened in shock.

“No, girl! I was gay from the womb! Good grief!” he exclaimed, his flamboyant facade slipping back into place. I couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“Seeing the impact of Mama’s departure on Dad, I became afraid,” Michael said, his voice dropping.

“Afraid of what?” I asked.

“Afraid of falling in love. I’ve seen how love left my dad broken. He gave everything to Mama and had nothing left when she left him. I don’t want to end up like that,” he explained, his voice tinged with sorrow.

I felt a pang of sadness. Love is indeed a gamble—one where you might win or lose everything. It’s terrifying to take that risk.

“I’m afraid that if I love, I might end up like my father,” he said, his smile tinged with melancholy.

The cheerful Michael I had known seemed to dissolve, revealing a vulnerable soul beneath. He needed someone to care for him before he fell apart.

Compelled by a sudden impulse, I enveloped Michael in a tight hug. His body stiffened in surprise, but I didn’t let go. I needed him to know he wasn’t alone.

“Chrisnah?” Michael’s voice was laced with confusion.

“Be still. Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone break you. I won’t let anyone take away that cheerful and genuine smile of yours,” I whispered, my voice trembling with sincerity.

I was determined to see him smile again, the way he used to. The days had made him special to me, and I couldn’t stand seeing him in pain.